


Making Our Way

by buckybahrns (hop_in_my_moricarty)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel/Dean Winchester - Freeform, Multi, also lots of wings, angelic strippers, basically naked people everywhere, deano the drug dealer, so many freaking wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hop_in_my_moricarty/pseuds/buckybahrns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wings? Check. Drug deals in shady alleyways using Baby's hidden trunk to conceal them? Check. Lots of nudity and sex? Check and double check.<br/>-----------------------------------</p><p>AU in which angels and mortals exist in harmony, but when the sun sets, angelic beauty is appreciated in a whole new way. Alternately: Dean deals to support Sammy, but is now the best in the business this side of the Mississippi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Our Way

**Author's Note:**

> BTW: I'll add more relationships as the story progresses. No need to fear, everybody gets some lovin' at Angel Wings.

They weren't supposed to go inside. He wasn't supposed to open the door. He wasn't supposed to look around the smoky room, the lights getting caught in the haze, and see the man on the pole. He wasn't supposed to have a drink or two, keeping an eye out while she got her fix. He wasn't supposed to catch the eye of the man who danced, or shiver because his wing tips brushed his cheek as he walked by. This wasn't how deals went with Dean Winchester. And he most certainly was not supposed to have a boner because an angel looked at him with those damn blue eyes and fluttered his wings at him because he was straight, dammit!

Dean shifted uncomfortably in the booth, watching as his client began spacing out across from him. He cast a quick glace around, checking for anybody coming, and quickly adjusted himself before standing and walking over to the bar. A lovely redhead looked up from cleaning a glass to meet Dean's eye. Her wings were a shade similar to blood, and the feathers looked soft as they hung relaxed, slightly open. She wore a skimpy white bikini and something that looked like a napkin on a string around her waist, trying its very hardest to be an apron. "What can I do you for, hon?" Dean loved it when bartenders and waitresses called him hon. It reminded him of his mom. He shot the angel a crooked grin, glancing at the nametag that was pinned carefully to the napkin.

"I'll just have a shot of Jack," Dean looked over his shoulder at the angel that he was apparently enamored with walking around. "And maybe the skinny on the one with the black wings... Anna? I  _can_ call you Anna, can't I?" Dean gave her another grin, leaning on the bar with one arm. Anna smiled at him, draping the rag over one of her wings, the dirty white cloth making Dean worry subconciously about the state of her wings.

"It's Anabiel, hon. No nicknames. Nicknames suggest attatchment, something I can't afford in this business." She turned her back to him, perching on tiptoe to reach the fresh bottle of Jack Daniel's, pulling a clean glass out and placing them in front of Dean. She poured the drink, lifting another glass from under the counter and pouring one for herself. She raised her glass a little, tapping it to Dean's before taking a sip. Anabiel set her drink down, crossing her arms on bar and leaning towards Dean conspiratorially. "That one, over there?" Anabiel motioned with her head at the dark-haired man who was sitting on a patron's lap, one wing wrapped around him. "That's Castiel, and word on the street is that he's been working in this kinda business since before he was legal. Apparently the big boss man took him in off of his street corner when he was kid and then when this place started up, he was the very first to give shows." She shrugged noncommitally, then drank some more. "That's just what they say around here, though. I've only been working for a month or so, so I'm not all that in the know. If you really want to know the whole story, you need to talk to Gabriel. He's usually in the back, see that corner over there?" She pointed, and Dean turned to look. "He's the one with the honey wings. Oh, and try not to stare at them. Tell him Anabiel sent you." Dean smiled and thanked her, giving her a hefty tip before winding his way to the back, keeping one eye on Castiel and another on Gabriel's corner.

When he reached the darkened corner, he cast a cursory glance around, pulling at his tie a little, the suit making him feel uncomfortable. He cleared his throat loudly, a head with mussed sand-colored hair shooting up from under the table to look around. A wide grin broke out on the face of the man attached to the hair. "Howdy, stranger. Can I get you anything?" The man Dean assumed to be Gabriel pulled a chocolate bar from behind him, tearing the wrapper open before taking a bite. He smiled again around the candy, motioning for Dean to take a seat as he sat up the right way on the bench he had previously been laying down on.

"I'm Dean. Anabiel told me to come here," Dean said, perching awkwardly on the edge of the booth, leaving room in case Gabriel opened his wings. Gabriel grinned his Cheshire Cat grin again, leaning back on the bench, his wings flaring out to avoid being crushed. Dean involuntarily gasped when he saw the wings. There were three pairs, and Gabriel layered them one over the other, the rich honey color of the feathers making Dean feel warm inside. Gabriel noticed Dean, and he bristled a bit. Dean realized he was staring, and quickly apologized. "I am so sorry, Anabiel told me not to stare, but I've just never seen an angel with  _six_ wings before. They're beautiful, by the way," Dean said in spite of himself. Gabriel visibly relaxed again, and crossed his arms on his bare chest.

"Well, we archangels are a rare breed. Just me and a few others. Great for making money, though," Gabriel replied, crossing his legs under him on the bench, the tight leather making Dean wonder how he could. "Anyway, Annie sent you over, did she? What a doll, always sends me the strays. Now, who do you want dirt on? Uriel? Naomi? Maybe," Gabriel's voice dropped to a low whisper, getting closer to Dean and motioning for him to come over. "Crowley?" Dean shook his head, leaning away from Gabriel, not seeing the need to remain so close.

"No, not them. That one, over there. With the black wings. Castiel, I think," Dean said, rolling his shoulders as he tried to get settled. Gabriel shot him another grin, and it was unsettling to Dean, like Gabriel could read his every thought.

"I can, you know. Read your thoughts. It's an archangel thing. Can't really turn it on or off. It's just, there, y'know?" Gabriel lounged on the bench again, laying his feet on Dean's lap nonchalantly. He took another bite of the chocolate, making an obscene noise as he ate. Dean flushed, squirming in his seat. "Oop, sorry, Deano. I just really love candy, I've got a  _massive_ sweet tooth. It's one of my vices."

Dean nodded, and said, "So, about Castiel...?" Gabriel grinned and rustled his six wings. "Well, let me just start at the very, very beginning, Dean. A long time ago, in a land not so far away..."

* * *

Imagine a kid, living in a home. Like a foster home, yeah? Okay, see it? No? Well, this kid is scrawny as hell. No friends, no family, no muscle, barely talks. Super lame, really sucky life. Mom had cancer, Dad ran off, his older brother was a  _total_ dick. Made him take up a street corner, Fifth and Washington, I think. All this before he's even double digits, man. Life has just thrown handful after handful of shit in his face, and this kid keeps plowing on through. That'd be Castiel. This kid, nine years old maybe, and he's sneaking out of the home at night and going to his corner. There are some sick little fucks out there, I'll tell you that. But an angel kid on the streets? Damn, he was making bank every night.

Sorry, sorry. That was in bad taste. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right, angel on the streets. So, as you seem to have noticed, Castiel's wings are a bit unique. Colorwise, obviously. So, the old sickos were interested in little Cas' wings because unlike other angels, his wings seemed to take in the light, rather than reflect it. I believe he told me one customer would say that they absorbed the shadows, and so when Cassie curled them around himself, he would be cradled in darkness and be at rest in the night whenever he wanted. Super barfy, right? Oh, you actually like that poetic crap. Ew, Dean.

Oh, shut up. So, after like, five years of this shit, this kid is super somber and deep and loner type material. No friends, like, ever. In school people used to think he was gonna go on, like, a killing spree or something. Then, get this, _Crowley_ finds him on the street one night and says, "Kid, you wanna come with me? I'll give you a home, get you off the streets, the whole nine yards." And, duh, Castiel is all suspicious because is this guy gonna like, kidnap and kill him? And so, y'know, he's like, "What the fuck, man? How do I know you're not completely insane?" And Crowley's just like, "Do you wanna get off the streets or not?"

Castiel only hesitated for a second, and then boom! He was now about to be adopted. And so he goes back to the home early and his older brother basically beats his ass black and blue for being home early and not making enough money to support his drug habit. You never sold to him, no, don't worry. He had crappy dealers and so he got caught, that's how I know. Because you're the best, Deano. Archangel, remember? Anyway, so Castiel had gotten a ride home from Crowley and he was waiting outside. Castiel packed his bag and just left. Poof, gone. Of course, Crowley had so much dough that a speedy adoption was no problem and Cas was legally his within a week, I think. Castiel lived with Crowley in his house, and that place is massive. I'm talking, like, four floors, fifteen bedrooms, state-of-the-art everything. No expense spared kinda deal. So, Castiel is fourteen now, and gets plopped into a private school. He's a smart kid, that one, and so he's doin' real well in school. Still really serious and quiet, though. But yeah, when Castiel graduates, Crowley gives him a choice: college or a job here. Castiel obviously didn't do it for the money, he just didn't know what else he could do. He didn't understand day-to-day social interaction and so he chose this place over school. And if that wasn't the best damn choice of his life.

* * *

"So there ya' go, Deano. The full scoop on our dear little Cassie," Gabriel said, fluttering one wing that had gotten stiff. "I expect you'll be back. Oh, and no need to pay me. I only get paid for my job which, unfortunately, is not gossiping." Dean stopped reaching for his pocket, face flushed with embarrasment.

"But, Gabriel, it don't feel right. I took up so much of your time tonight, I must've affected your profit," Dean argued, before Gabriel waved him off with a half-eaten candy bar. The angel slipped him a piece of paper which upon closer inspection turned out to be a business card. "Mine," Gabriel said, gold lettering appearing on the card. "And Castiel's," he said, waving his hand as another card appeared in it. Dean pocketed the two cards, and got up to leave. "See ya' next time, Deano. Don't you forget about me." Gabriel winked once, and vanished into thin air, only the faint rustle of wings an indicator of his departure.

Dean shook his head, and made his way to the door. He didn't see Castiel on his way out, and as he walked into the cool night air, he realized that Gabriel was right. He would be coming back. He reached into his suit pocket as he walked down the street, neon signs flashing on the wet cement, and he paused under a street lamp to read them.

One was pure white, gold letters catching the light as he turned it over in his hand.  _Gabriel, archangel. Angel Wings Club, F. Crowley. T, Th, Sat., Sun. 9:00 PM- 3:00 AM._  On the back of the card, in scrawling gold ink was a number. _942-0757, call me if you wanna chat again._ Dean breathed a small laugh, and put the card back in his pocket. The other card was the blackest black he'd ever seen paper get. Silvery looking letters in a loopy font spelled out  _Castiel, angel. Angel Wings Club, F. Crowley. M, W, F, Sat. _10:00 PM-4:00 AM (closing)__  and Dean turned it over as well. In the same gold script as the other card was another number.  _202-3951_ _, personal cell (very hush-hush, good luck, Deano) ;)_. Dean rolled his eyes at Gabriel's note, but silently thanked him as he returned the card to his pocket and opened the door of his 1967 Impala, the only thing his father left them worth keeping when he died. Dean climbed in the car, sighing quickly as he held the wheel. 

"Hey, Baby. Sorry I was gone for so long, I got caught up with some angels. Anyway, wanna grab a bite before we head home? Awesome," Dean stroked the wheel before turning the keys in the ignition. He roared down the street, the Impala's loud engine rumbling and making him smile. He reached over to grab his phone and dialed the most familiar number in the world to him. Three rings before it was picked up, and a man answered, "Hello?"

"Sammy! 'Sgood to hear your voice, little brother. Listen, I'm getting a burger, you want anything?" Dean had one hand on the wheel, relaxing into his seat.

"Nah, I'm good. How'd the deal go?" Sam yawned, sleep evident in his voice.

"Pretty good. I'll tell you more about it when I get home. How much beer do we have?"

"Uh, I dunno. Lemme check," Sam walked into the kitchen and Dean mentally played it. Stairs one through five, six creaking, seven, eight, nine. Turn the corner, slip through the door, skip over the splintery floorboard, pull open the fridge. "Three bottles of Miller and a six-pack of whatever crap generic brand you picked up."

Dean sighed, and answered, "Well, I'll pick up something nice this time, okay Sammy?" Sam smiled a little to himself and responded, "Yeah, Dean. Yeah, that'd be great."

* * *

"Oh, man! That is great!" Sam crowed around the burger Dean got him anyways. "You, Dean Winchester, are now basically in love with an angel! A guy angel, too!" Sam cackled again, nearly falling out of his seat. Dean glared at him, holding his burger just that much tighter.

"Shut up," Dean grumbled, taking a bite of his burger. He chewed viciously, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth despite his anger. "The guy was hot. I mean like,  _hot_ hot. You'dve liked him too, Sammy. Or maybe one of the other ones. Like Gabriel. Man, his wings were so fuckin' cool. Six wings, Sammy! And they were all giant. Like, you know how normal angel wings are a little higher than their heads and the tips go down to the calves? His were all the way down to the floor, probably, and went a good foot above his head! And the color man, they were freaking sunshine in a jar of honey. And his eyes too, you like eye colors, right? Man, you ever had some whiskey sittin' outside in the summer? And you know the shadow that's there when the light's on it? His eyes were the color of the whiskey."

Sam's face looked thoughful as he munched on a fry. He pointed the half-eaten potato stick at Dean and swallowed before saying, "Call up Gabriel tomorrow. Tell him he's got a potential customer. And tell him that maybe you'd be interested in this Castiel guy too."

Dean made barfing noises and clutched his stomach dramatically. "Ugh, Sammy, I think you've given me chick-flick-itis. You're telling me that you wanna go on a double date with two angels you've never met, and then what? Have super crazy angel sex with Gabriel and his six wings? Please. I'm taking you over there first thing tomorrow. Gabriel's shift starts at," Dean slid the card over to himself with a finger, "ten. And Castiel is there until three, so if we time it right you and I will both be able to get a lil somethin' somethin' and then we're outta there. Call Gabriel the next morning if you really wanna, but don't count on anything. He seemed like the love 'em and leave 'em type to me."

Sam rolled his eyes and stood up from the table. He grabbed the balled up wrapper from his burger and tossed it into the trash. "Whatever, Dean. Go to bed, it's late, and you've got work at the shop to do tomorrow morning." Sam stretched, his V-neck inching up his stomach and chilling him a little. He tugged it back into place before padding up the stairs. "Night, Dean," Sam called from the top step.

"Night, Sammy," Dean called back, mouth full of burgers and fries. Dean took a gulp of his beer, face scrunching in distaste at the discovery that it was warm. "Echk. Warm beer," Dean sighed before finishing his food and drink. "I've had worse." He also went up to bed, his room the third one down the hall on the right. The old house creaked as it settled down for the night. He was always reminded of just how empty it seemed now, this big old house in Kansas with just two brothers and grainy memories to fill it. Now that their mother had been dead for almost eighteen years, and Dean had kicked out all the junkies who would hang around, trying to get a fix for cheap, it was quiet and lonely and not at all like the Winchester boys. They were on their own since the week before Dean's sixteenth birthday, and they had their mom's old friend Bobby Singer watching over them, just enough so that they couldn't be put in a home. They were his boys, his nephews almost, but he knew that Dean wanted to raise Sammy all on his own.

Dean smiled up at the roof as he walked into his room, remembering the good times they'd had with Bobby. He had died a few years back, a heart thing, and the boys missed him fiercely. "Thanks, Bobby. We loved you, man. Like a dad. Still do," Dean looked down from the ceiling and walked to his bed, tugging off his suit until he wore boxers and an undershirt. He picked up his pants, pulling the cards out of the pocket and leaning them neatly on the lamp base on his nightstand, right next to the last picture taken of his whole family together. Dad in uniform, Mom holding a tiny Sammy, and Dean perched on his father's shoulders. They were all smiling, right next to the tree that was still in front of the house. He brushed a finger over his mother's face and whispered, "Love you, Mom. We still miss you lots." He gave the old picture a bittersweet smile, and clicked the lamp off. Dean pulled the cover over himself, and fell asleep within minutes.

 

 


End file.
